Monday, 5 April 2010

 

Start: Tirana: 10:20

Arrival: Kotor: 17:30

Total: 277 km

 

 

 

 

This was our last day in Albania. From now on, we would be heading north, and that meant, inevitably, towards home. The biggest part of our holiday was already behind us. We became a bit melancholic thinking about this, but then the excelling coffee, a good breakfast and a nice chat with our waiter Gazi cheered us up. He introduced us to two of the hotel's investors. We chatted about Albania and they gave us tips for further visits, but unfortunately we didn't have time anymore. We assured them that we would be back to Albania one day.

 

When we left Tirana, it started to rain. The city felt as sad about our leaving as we did. By now, we knew the way north, which was the same as for Kruja two days ago, and we inched our way along the main boulevards towards the highway. As expected, the traffic was gridlock again, but finally we were on our way.

 

North of Kruja, the street paving became much worse. They are building a new highway in the northeast, towards Kosovo, but the road straight north to Montenegro was all potholes and half-finished pavement drowning in mud and rain. We advanced very slowly. It was only 130 kilometers to the Montenegrin border, but - with two short stops in between - this took us more than four hours. We now understood why some people had told us the streets were so bad in Albania. The highways from Kosovo or Macedonia are quite new and impeccable, but the streets in the north are still waiting to be upgraded. As the people I spoke to had been on holiday in Montenegro and had just hopped into Albania for a few hours, they didn't have the same positive first impression as we did.

 

 

 

Half-way to the border, we made a stop in Lezha, to visit the last resting place of Skanderbeg. We had some trouble finding it, so finally we parked our car somewhere in the town and continued on foot along the narrow cobblestoned streets. In Lezha, which back then was under Venetian control, George Castrioti - better known as Skanderbeg - united the Albanians and other Christian people of the area in their fight against the advancing Ottoman Empire. This was in 1444. After this death, Skanderbeg was buried in Lezha and they built a large mausoleum in his honor.

 

Ambling along the streets of the town, I recalled the novel The Siege by Ismail Kadarë, which I had read a while ago. It is set in the times of the Ottoman invasion, even though it does not feature Skanderbeg. I suppose the author didn't want this well-known hero to steal the spotlight from his characters. Somehow, the book reminds me very much of Ivo Andrić's Wesire and Konsuln, even though the historical novel is set almost 400 years later. Maybe it's because it also deals with encounters between the Christian West and the Ottoman Empire, and in both books the characters are so life-like and universal. If you're interested in the history of the Balkans, I can only recommend to read both.

 

Finally, we located the park with Skanderbeg's memorial. It was so huge, and quite near the main road, that we wondered how we could have missed it coming into Lezha. Oddly enough, we were the only people in the park, and the mausoleum was locked. We rattled at the door, but it remained locked. Suddenly, a young bloke ran up to us. He seemed eager to practice his English and announced proudly that, having seen us walk up, he had organised the key to the door for us. We found this rather odd, but sure enough, he had a key and we walked in.

 

Inside there was a Skanderbeg bust, some heavy lances, coats of arms and flags, in short: everything that you would expect in a mausoleum. And there was of course our self-appointed tourist guide, who told us the story of Skanderbeg's fight in all its gory glory. He was obviously very proud of his national hero, and, in my opinion, a bit too enthusiastic about the fighting and killing. There was a heavy decorative sword or sabre lying on the grave, and our guide encouraged us to lift it up. Play with the deco? We'd rather not. Our Albanian youngster had no such qualms. He put the helmet on, lifted the sword and swung it around, with fire in his eyes. At that moment, we were very glad that we weren't Turks. He looked ready to go to battle. We decided to make a swift exit, but Skanderbeg Junior wanted to hear more about our own country. So we were from Luxembourg? Did we battle the Ottomans there, too? One has to be proud of one's country. Ehm, yes, sure, and good bye.

 

Laughing and wondering whether this young hero was in any way officially involved with the memorial site, we walked back to our car. It was drizzling again and the road didn't get any better. We also noted the innumerable plastic garbage bags along the road. Albania must be a prospering country if they can afford so much garbage. Now they only need to better organise the garbage collection and they're all set for a bright future in the Capitalist world. But we didn't want to be cynical, as we were finally approaching the biggest city in Northern Albania, Shkodra.

 

 

 

Its ancient fortress loomed over the modern city, and we had planned on visiting it. And by now it was raining heavily and we were running late in our schedule. So we decided to skip the fortress, and just buy some supplies for the road in the city. We drove along the main street, which among other things sported a very new-looking internet café. In a little supermarket, we exchanged our last leke for food. The supermarket didn't look any different than the shops back home. Unfortunately, we didn't find any cookies or candies made in Albania. All the non-perishable goods seemed to be coming from either Greece or Serbia. Pity, I would have liked to show off with my Albanian chocolates back home. ;)

 

From Shkodra to the border, the road became really distressing. Mud, potholes and garbage bags galore, the landscape was depressing in the rain and wind. There weren't many villages to be seen, but the few houses that we did see were almost all brandnew and spotless. Somehow, they reminded me of ready-made houses in Northern France. The area seems to be prospering and I can only hope that the governement will soon be able to do some roadworks there.

 

 

 

When we arrived at the border, it was already three o'clock in the afternoon. The Albanian border control wasn't interested in checking our car, but he did ask for two euros "car tax". We weren't sure whether this tax really existed, especially considering that he didn't give us a receipt for it. Maybe this was the oft-cited Balkan corruption? If it was, he was welcome to it, two euros are peanuts compared to the Austrian maut or the ubiquitous péage in France. Across the border in Montenegro, the control post was really nice. He chatted with us in English and recommened that we visit Mount Lovćen with its monument to the great Serbian poet Petar Njegoš. Why not, we would keep the idea in mind. Anyway, we wanted to see the old capital of Montenegro, Cetinje, and that was on the way to the national park of Lovćen.

 

By now the sun had come out and we were in an excellent mood. The landscape was simply breathtaking. There is a reason why the country is called Montenegro, or, rather, Crna Gora. To all sides, there are dark mountains, and yet everything is green and blossoming, at least in spring, when we were there. The roads were in excellent condition, and there were hardly any cars around, so we made good speed towards Podgorica, the capital. As it was really getting late, we didn't stop there, but simply drove on, into the mountains towards Cetinje.

 

Unfortunately, mountain roads are by there very nature small and curvy and not meant to be crossed in a hurry. By the time we arrived in Cetinje, I was impatient and tired and not really in the mood for this supposed jewel. We parked the car close to what seemed to be the main street and walked along the lonely cobblestoned street. Apart from some very noisy cafés, seemingly the preferred haunts of the youth of Cetinje, all was very quiet. We entered one café and the people all looked funny at us. Or we thought they looked funny. They probably didn't waste a thought about the tired, dishevelled tourists looking for a quiet, romantic drink. Here, hip hop and techno reigned, and not the spirit of Petar II. We made a hasty exit. Outside the main street, the beautifully restored old buildings and parks lay deserted. Somehow, I wasn't in the mood for sightseeing. I didn't feel too good and I was longing for a bath and a bed. Therefore, we decided to skip the Lovćen and drive straight to Kotor. I sooo regretted that decision later! I would have wanted to see the monument, and we really weren't that far away. Of course, 30 kilometers on a mountain road can take long, and we weren't sure whether there is a western road from the monument to Kotor (I know it now - there is, but it looks mightily adventurous on Google Maps). Still, I should have gone there. Who knows when I will be back in Montenegro. This ought to have taught me a lesson not to be lazy on a trip. But sometimes your inner sloth gets the better of you. A similar thing happened in the Ukraine two years later, when I couldn't be arsed to drive into Odessa to see the Potjomkin Stairs, and now I kick myself each time I think of that famous landmark I have not seen.

 

 

 

But at the time, I was glad for every kilometer I came closer to our hotel. In Budva, we left the mountain road and followed the winding coast toward the Bay of Kotor. When we had finally located our hotel, the doors were closed! We rang the bell, but no one answered. All in all, the place didn't look ready for business. Luckily, we had their phone number. We called reception, and someone came to open up for us. The young employee was very accomodating, she showed us around the hotel and we could choose whichever room we wanted. The hotel itself was very grand, it looked like an old Venetian mansion. We chose a very large and sumptuous apartment under the roof. We had the strong suspicion, that we were the only guests. I suppose the summer months would be a lot busier at the Bay of Kotor. The receptionist informed us that she would be leaving at 10 PM, but that she would be back for breakfast. Wow, so we would probably be all alone during the night in this huge house, overlooking the lake.

 

We set out again to explore the area. The view over the lake was breathtaking and again we felt like the only tourists around. All the houses along the waterfront looked shut down, awaiting warmer days. We enjoyed the fact that we had the promenade all for ourselves. But now we were getting hungry. Unfortunately, the restaurants weren't awaiting any customers, either. We found a cosy restaurant that pretended to be open, so we installed ourselves and the waiter handed us the menu. The dishes sounded mouth-watering. But when the waiter showed up again to take our orders, he informed us that the "kitchen was closed for the evening" and that he could only offer us cold cuts and cheese. We were so disappointed! Couldn't he have told us this before we sat down and studied the menu. We strongly suspected that he was hoping we wouldn't be so rude and leave, seeing that we had already settled down. We had no intention of falling for this, and set out, in search of another restaurant.

 

We had almost resigned ourselves to going to sleep with a grumbling stomach, when we found a wonderful little restaurant, quiet and rustic. They had freshly-caught fish on offer. They brought us a plate full of fish and we could choose the ones we wanted grilled. Perfect! As dessert, they threw in a delicious chocolate cake for free. We were dead chuffed.

 

By now, night had fallen and walked slowly back to our hotel. Back at our rooms, we noticed that it was horribly cold in there, and getting colder by the minute. We located the heater, but didn't manage to get it to work. Maybe their central heating was still shut down? We didn't feel like ringing the receptionist and making her get back to the hotel in the dead of the night. So we put our socks and jackets on, and crawled under the bedsheets. It was deliciously quiet, and so we fell asleep right away, snoozing into the last adventurous day of our journey to the Balkans.